


To Love or Not

by Unemployedelf



Series: An Angel Once [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unemployedelf/pseuds/Unemployedelf
Summary: The first time Crowley kissed Aziraphale, it was late in the 2nd century AD, and they were very drunk. It was not a ‘good’ kiss, as both parties had never kissed anyone before, and because of the aforementioned drunkenness.Right then, though, they were happy.And then Aziraphale gasped as if he just realized what he was doing, sobered up so quickly Crowley’s ears popped, and left.Crowley immediately fell on his face. He breathed out, sleepily, “I love him.”





	To Love or Not

**Author's Note:**

> so this was originally gonna be the end of the 'We Freely Love', but it went on too long, its almost half the entire story, so I cut it out. People said they would like to see it though, so here it is, although now that its not part of 'We Freely Love', its kinda short. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The first time Crowley kissed Aziraphale, it was late in the 2nd century AD, and they were very drunk. It was not a ‘good’ kiss, as both parties had never kissed anyone before, and because of the aforementioned drunkenness. Crowley had grabbed Aziraphale’s face between his hands, and their lips slid together, as their noses bumped painfully against one another, and Crowley’s glasses dug into Aziraphale’s skin. It was painful, and sloppy, and thousands of years later they will look back on this moment with slight embarrassment. Right then, though, they were happy. 

And then Aziraphale gasped as if he just realized what he was doing, sobered up so quickly  _ Crowley’s _ ears popped, and left.

 Crowley immediately fell on his face. He breathed out, sleepily, “I love him.” 

_______

There were many other kisses after that, across the years. On the forehead, cheeks, hands, lips, etc. etc.

That is not the point, though.

The point is, that when Aziraphale cups Crowley’s jaw outside his bookstore with one hand, leaning against the Bentley, and kisses him softly on the lips, Crowley’s breath should not feel like its been stolen, and his heart like its about to explode. He should be used to it.*

The difference is that Crowley had just finished confessing that he used to be the Archangel Raphael.

 

Crowley had tried to tell him in the restaurant, but he had flustered too much, and Aziraphale had gotten his concerned look, taking Crowley’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, or feel comfortable with, you know.” he had said. Crowley had winced. 

“I  _ do _ want to tell you.” Crowley insisted. “It’s just- hard.”

“There’s no rush, dear. We have forever.”

Crowley had nodded his head, a bit frantically, and ate a piece of his cake. “Yeah. Of course.”

And he hadn’t told him at the restaurant, or in the car ride back to Aziraphale’s place, because the thing about hiding a secret for over 6,000 years, is that when you finally tell it, it becomes a very awkward and stilted confession.

It wasn’t until they stepped out of the car, Crowley walking around to be next to Aziraphale, who had turned to face him, smile on his face, no doubt to ask him if perhaps he wanted to go inside, perhaps they could continue looking at places together from the folder Crowley had previously printed off, or maybe share a bottle a wine, one of the better ones, or maybe-

“I’m Raphael,” Crowley blurts out.

Aziraphale’s expression freezes, and his mouth that was about to form words snapped shut with an audible  _ ‘click’ _ . 

“I mean,” Crowley babbles. “I’m Crowley,”  Because he is, and that’s who he will be. He’s been Crawly in Hell longer than he’s ever been Raphael in Heaven; he’s been Crowley on Earth longer than he’s been both combined. 

“I’m Crowley, and I’ll always be that, but before my Fall I was the Archangel Raphael and I’ve used it after my Fall, too, occasionally, and that’s why you went to Nineveh that one time, because I really was there, I just couldn't stop myself of healing, or helping, sometimes, so I assume that’s why some Angels thought I was still an Angel, in Heaven only the other Archangels know, and in Hell, Satan, Beelzebub and the Dukes- well,  _ Duke _ , I killed Listur, didn’t I, and I don’t think Dagon knows, but maybe she does, and I’m sorry I hid it from you, but it doesn’t change anything, I’m still me, I just thought, you mentioned him- mentioned  _ me- _ and I thought there shouldn't be any secrets between us now, after the end of the world a few months ago and-”

Aziraphale places two fingers to Crowley’s lips, silencing him, which is only then that Crowley realizes he’s been rambling, oh,  _ Gosh _ , that’s embarrassing. 

“Oh,  _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale sighs, and Crowley knows that tone, Aziraphale uses it often. The last time Crowley heard it, he was stepping out of his burning car at the end of the world.

And then Aziraphale kisses him. As previously stated, this was not their first, second, third, or even fourth kiss. It wasn’t even their fifth kiss that  _ month _ .**

Crowley still felt his breath leave him, and his heart jump, and when Aziraphale pulls away, its to bring his hand up to push Crowley’s glasses in his hair.

 “My love,” Aziraphale says, and that, along with the pure adoration that is radiating off the angel’s face, causes Crowley to be weak in the knees. “You were so nervous, in Nineveh, but we weren’t as close, I thought you were just afraid of the possibility of being near so many Angels. And that one time I asked you about you, before your Fall, you clammed up, and I thought it best not to ask anymore.”

Aziraphale’s other hand goes up to cup the other side of Crowley’s face. “Oh, my beautiful, darling boy.”

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” Crowley mumbles, turning his head into Aziraphale’s hand, lips brushing palm. “Nothing has changed.” He kisses Aziraphale’s palm. “I’m still me.” 

“I know,” Aziraphale confirms. “I know this. I know  _ you _ . I’m just so proud of you for telling me about your past.”

“Shut up,” he replies, pulling his shades down to hide his eyes. He knows his face is pink. “Come on, lets go inside.”

Aziraphale laughs softly, pleased, dropping his hands in favor for holding one of Crowley’s, them walking hand-in-hand to the doors of the bookstore. 

At the sound of his angel’s laughter, Crowley fully relaxes, and mentally admonishes himself for doubting that Aziraphale would be anything less than great about it.

“You know,” Crowley starts pleasantly, holding the door open for Aziraphale. “I could probably tell you pretty embarrassing stories about the other Archangels, if you want.”

Aziraphale’s smile changes a bit, a little less soft, a bit more fierce, but still warm, something wholly Aziraphale, as he says, “Oh, you wily serpent,”

* * *

 

*If anyone asks him, Anthony J Crowley will say every time Aziraphale kisses him will feel like the first. If Aziraphale is with him, Aziraphale will blush, look away, and say, “Oh,  _ really _ , my dear.”

** It was November 2nd. Aziraphale had made a new habit of kissing Crowley awake every morning, kissing him before he decided to sleep for the night, and kissing him when ever he feels like it.

  
  



End file.
